Cat of the Century (11 page)

“No dog would pay for sex. Humans, mostly men, worldwide, do. And people call dogs dumb animals.

“For God’s sake, don’t try to be perfect. It’s impossible and you will become impossibly tedious.

“I have always believed a window into a person’s true nature is how they treat animals, children, and the elderly. A person who mistreats animals isn’t worth knowing. A person who mistreats children—especially those who abuse and kill them—should be shot without wasting any taxpayer money for a trial and for feeding them in prison. When a perpetrator of heinous crimes can live in a climate-controlled environment and eat three meals a day while good people go hungry, something is very wrong. Americans are paying for serial killers, rapists, and child abusers to live better than they do.”

She paused for a moment, again swept the room with her eyes, and moved on to less troubling subjects. “Fall in love with open eyes. Easier said than done, so should you find yourself in a situation where you
love someone who lacks the good taste to return the compliment, move on. You’re better off without him or her.

“If your cat or dog doesn’t like someone, trust your cat or dog.

“Obey the Ten Commandments. And they are the Ten Commandments not the Ten Suggestions.

“Having memorized them, I don’t recall any exhortation not to smoke, drink, or overeat. Now if you stop smoking and drinking, you may not live longer but it will seem longer.

“Any offer too good to be true, is.

“Well, I’ve rattled on, hopped around, I’m not much of a speech giver. I still have goals, old as I am, and hope you do, too. I’ve pretty much given up on self-improvement, but there are things I’d like to know, such as the fact that cats were worshipped for milennia in ancient Egypt. When did that practice stop? And why don’t our cats notice?

“Another thing, and this is just something from our community: In 1964 a young blacksmith was found dead in the road. No one ever caught the killer, and I’ve always wanted to know who did it. It’s our county’s Black Dahlia case.

“I’d like to see one of my horses or one of my niece’s horses win the Maryland Cup, which is a steeplechase race.” She smiled broadly. “Small goals, they won’t set the world on fire, but if you have a goal, you’ll push on.

“I wish each of you a long life if you have the will to live it, and life takes will. Perhaps someday something in my ramblings will pop into your head and you’ll think, ‘She knew her beans.’

“As for aging, don’t fear it. Aging is a return to your true self. The mind understands time, the heart does not. My heart is here at William Woods: the century is irrelevant.”

She lifted her right hand, palm open, and gestured to the assembled. “Onward and upward.”

With that, she came out from behind the podium and bowed, balancing on her cane. The gesture was not lost on her, for in more primitive times, one lowered one’s head to the hetman or leader. If your performance displeased, off with your head.

Aunt Tally’s remained securely on her shoulders, for the audience
cheered. The young people in the audience liked that she spoke to them without a whiff of bullshit. That alone was worth applause.

Inez rose, as did Jahnae. Inez, having lived almost to one hundred herself, agreed with every word Tally had uttered. She’d lived long enough to know that Americans were like Gulliver in Lilliput: tied down by cords of government regulation. And like Gulliver, we must free ourselves, she thought to herself.

One willowy girl in the audience wiped away a tear. Even if she had to stand in line for an hour at the reception to talk to Tally, she would do it.

They filed out of the auditorium to the reception room, where dinner was waiting. Few students could have paid for this special dinner, nor could some of the over-eighty alumnae. Big Mim, asking for anonymity, had paid for the entire feast.

The Ivy Room, decorated in green and burgundy, smelled of roast beef, which was being served buffet style. As freshmen, sophomores, and most juniors were underage, no alcohol was served. However, Jahnae, being a wonderful hostess, had ordered a pitcher with Tanqueray and nestled it in a champagne bucket stuffed with shaved ice. The bucket sported burgundy-and-dark-green ribbons with an enormous bow. A place card reading “Tally Urquhart” in italics signified Tally’s seat at the table. The vermouth was in a silver teapot, and the olives were on a small silver plate, toothpicks spearing them.

Jahnae had arranged for waitstaff to bring filled dishes to the three tables of over-eighty alumnae. Some of the women would not have been able to get the food and carry it. A student waiter was in charge of alcoholic drinks at those special tables. He was amazed at how much those old girls could knock back.

The members of the alumnae board were seated at a table adjacent to Tally’s.

Once the room was filled, Jahnae briefly welcomed everyone and encouraged them to enjoy the food. After dessert and coffee, students and friends could speak with their celebrated guest.

At the head table, Jahnae whispered to Tally that the vermouth was in the silver teapot.

“You’ve thought of everything,” Aunt Tally praised her, as she fixed herself a liberal martini, then mixed a second one for Inez and a third for Little Mim. Big Mim rarely drank any form of alcohol and Harry drank only beer.

“But the weather,” Jahnae laughed.

Aunt Tally offered to mix a martini for Jahnae. “The bartender’s hand makes a mean martini,” she said. In the South, the bartender’s hand is the secret ingredient to a perfect drink. Jahnae understood and whispered, “On duty.” That was easier than saying no, since Tally liked to share. Jahnae wasn’t much of a drinker.

Harry held up her drink as Jahnae stood.

“To Tally Urquhart, an example to us all, a woman of high intelligence and keen observation and a born hell-raiser.” Jahnae laughed again.

Big Mim, looking nothing like her seventy-some years, her jewelry understated but major, held up her iced tea. “To my aunt, who so resembles my mother and my brother, Myron, who died on the Bataan Death March: Here’s to one hundred more years. Jahnae, might I add that if you had to live with her, the hell-raising might wear on you a bit.” Big Mim laughed. “Aunt Tally, you really are one in a million.”

Another toast and more laughter.

Next, Inez proposed a toast. “Here we are in 2009. Seventy-eight years of friendship with rarely a cross word but gales of laughter. May each of you have a friend so dear.”

While toasts continued at table one, the alumnae board at table two put on a good face, but they were reeling over Mariah’s disappearance as well as at the questioning by the police.

Liz Filmore, whose husband, Tim, sat next to her, moaned, “It seems so odd not to have Mariah here.”

No one mentioned Pete, since he rarely accompanied Mariah. They usually went their separate ways.

“For one thing, it’s quieter.” Flo rose and made her way to the buffet table, which was already jammed with students.

The students gave way to Flo. They would have in most instances, but Gayle Lampe had impressed upon them to honor the alumnae
board. As most of the assembled knew Gayle from the riding program, she’d been able to talk to them at the stables. This made her appeal—her order, really—more powerful. She had also impressed upon them the need to converse with the over-eighty crowd. She’d quipped, “You might learn something.”

At the alumnae board table Andrea Rolf, an energetic member from the class of 1989, was nobody’s fool. “Liz, drop it. We don’t want Tally to get wind of it. Not during her time of triumph, anyway.”

Liz halfway listened, then asked, “Did you like her?”

“Tally or Mariah?” Andrea couldn’t help but tease her.

“Mariah, of course.” Liz had knocked back two well-made daiquiris, and on a blizzard night, no less. Her husband kept a watchful eye without being too noticeable about it. She’d managed to guzzle more drinks when he’d been pulled away in conversation. He knew she was unsteady just as he knew no matter how hard he tried, she’d knock back the booze.

“Yes, I liked her. Her endless drawing of attention to her accomplishments was wearing thin, but I got along with her just fine.”

“I’ll go with.” Liz used the Midwestern shorthand for “I’ll go with you” as she rose to accompany her husband to the buffet. A bit of the Midwest had rubbed off on her during her four years in Fulton, as it had on all the graduates.

He put his hands under her elbows, all but lifting her up.

As the Filmores left for the buffet table, DeeDee Halstead, the alumnae member from Los Angeles, class of 1978, picked up her whiskey sour. “To Tally.”

They stood, holding their glasses, and boomed out, “To Tally.”

Liz, now at the buffet table, moaned, “How could they do that without me?”

Tim, hoping to keep her level, said, “You can make as many toasts as you want back at the table.”

She leaned against him for a moment. “You’re right, I can.”

By now Flo had returned to their table and was enjoying her food. She encouraged the others to get to the buffet line.

But Trudy Sweetwater, who was tired and worried, had lost her appetite.

Andrea noticed and said, “Trudy, at least eat some salad. You’ll pick up, and it’s so healthy.”

“I know.” Trudy sighed.

Flo, with a strong voice, advised, “I understand. But there’s nothing you can do. This really is Tally’s big day. Let’s put Mariah aside. I know that’s easy coming from me, since I truly could not stand the woman, but Tally comes first.” She looked up to see Tim and Liz approaching. “Try.”

“You’re right.” Trudy got up; Andrea went with her.

Liz, once seated beside her husband, tested a piece of roast beef. “Delicious.”

Tim did likewise. “Good beef out here.”

Flo liked Tim well enough. “People still run big herds. When land prices hit the roof, some folks sold out and we suffered the rash of overdevelopment that many parts of the country did, but, Tim, real Missouri is still cattle, farming, and a little fishing to do you good.” She beamed, for she loved her state.

Liz, oblivious to the discussion, piped up. “You know, I’ve come up with a package that focuses on computer-chip nanotechnology. It’s the future.”

“Liz, this isn’t the time to discuss business,” DeeDee chided her.

“Oh.” Liz looked crestfallen.

“Eat your supper, honey. We may not get hot food for a day or two,” Tim cajoled her.

“Why?”

He replied, “I expect whole swaths of Missouri will be without power. This storm is getting stronger and stronger.”

Flo looked out the long windows of the banquet room. The outdoor lights glowed as best they could through the thick snow. “Yes, it is.”

By the time everyone had dessert and coffee, the wind was shaking the building. Jahnae, forgoing dessert, spoke to each woman at the over-eighty tables. She then stopped by all the other tables to remind the students to go back to the residence halls in human chains.

The minute the dessert dishes were picked up, people descended
on Tally. Big Mim stood with her aunt to assist her. Inez rose, too, since students wished to talk to her, as well.

For an hour, Aunt Tally signed programs and chatted. The line had dwindled and she was about to take a step toward the over-eighty tables when a willowy, attractive girl held out her hand.

“Miss Urquhart, I’m Aileen Tinsdale. I was named for my maternal grandmother, Aileen Peavey.”

“For heaven’s sake!” Aunt Tally held the girl’s hand. “You’re Ralston’s granddaughter.”

“I am.”

Big Mim, Little Mim, Inez, and Harry all stared at the young woman. Her blue eyes, blonde hair, and regular features made her very attractive. Her manner made her more so.

“I remember when your grandmother left. Too many memories. We heard she moved to St. Louis because she found a good job there. Ralston had made some money, but not enough.”

“Grandma passed away from colon cancer last year.” Tears came into Aileen’s eyes. “If only she could have seen you again.”

Aunt Tally, touched, said, “I would have liked that. She was a good woman who faced a terrible situation. I’m so sorry to hear she’s on the other side. Are you George’s daughter or Linda’s?”

Aileen added, “Linda’s. My mother is doing fine.”

“How’s George? He was ten when I last saw him.”

“Uncle George is great. Grandma said he looked just like Ralston.”

“Is George happy?”

“Yes. He has three sons, and he and his wife, Judy, are so funny together. He owns a pharmacy in St. Joseph.”

“Why St. Joseph?”

“St. Louis overwhelmed Grandma, but she had a really good job as an executive secretary. She met Clyde Waverly, a cattleman from St. Joe. He told her if she married him she’d never have to work outside the house again. She did and moved to St. Joe. It’s a really nice place. I miss it. I love college, but I guess you always miss home. I miss my horse. Mom and Dad said next year they’d pay to board him here.”

“That would be ideal.” Aunt Tally liked this young woman. She didn’t let go of her hand. “Any brothers and sisters?”

“One each. Hannah’s two years behind me. John is four.”

“I never heard from your grandmother after she left. Then I lost track,” Tally said wistfully.

“Grandma didn’t keep up with people back in Virginia. She couldn’t take the reminders. She said she wanted to forget, and then she thought everyone had forgotten her and Ralston. She never really forgot.”

“Neither did we,” Aunt Tally said. “Honey, if you give me your address, I will keep in touch.”

Aileen had been hoping for this. She pulled out a pink slip of paper on which she’d written her school address and phone number, her email address, and her home address in St. Joseph.

Aileen then noticed students lining up.

“Dr. Barnett told us we have to walk back to the residence halls in lines. The weather’s so bad. I’ve never seen it this bad.” She squeezed Aunt Tally’s hand. “I’m so excited to meet you.” She turned to Inez. “And you, too, Dr. Carpenter. Grandma told me you paved the way in Virginia.”

“Your grandmother was very kind.” Inez hugged the young woman, as did Aunt Tally.